shooting. Mitchell groaned and muttered something about not knowing anything about Kelly’s killer.
‘Someone connected with a Spanish girl called Rosina Olivarez,’ Savage said, thinking about the photograph Nesbit had found inside Kelly.
Mitchell sniggered, a nasty bubbling sound came from his nose and a drop of blood rolled out.
‘Oh, Mr Weirdo. We had a lot of fun with him. You think I am bad? Well Harry is mad, crazy like nutcase crazy. Blame the parents, that’s what I say. Apparently mummy and daddy weren’t very nice to him when he was a kid. Poor Harry. Now he likes girls. Oh we all do, of course, but Harry likes the caring sort. Reminds him of when he was little, he told me. Never understood it myself, but each to his own.’
Mitchell was weaker now, his face pale, white like the carpet. Savage reckoned he didn’t have long unless she could end this quickly.
‘Harry who?’
‘Harry Houdini. Now you see him now you don’t. International man of mystery, our Harry. Except there is nothing mysterious about him. He is just a sad little pervert wanking over his pictures.’
‘SHE SAID HARRY FUCKING WHO?’ Donal shouted, enraged now and swinging the crossbow back and forth with a violent motion.
Savage moved again. Mitchell’s face was ashen, his eyelids flickering. She sensed he realised he was dying, either way.
‘You’ll never know,’ Mitchell said. ‘Never know who stripped and fucked your Kelly.’
‘BASTARD!’
Donal fired the crossbow and the bolt passed through Mitchell’s chest and embedded itself in the wardrobe behind with a thud, cracking the mirrored glass a second time. Blood spurted out splattering the mirrors and showering over the floor. Mitchell’s eyes rolled down, as if noticing the mess on the ground for the first time.
‘Didn’t like the carpets, Harry. Gave off the wrong sort of light he always said. Guess they can be changed now.’
Mitchell's eyes closed and he let out a horrible wheezing sound as a final breath of air was expelled from his lungs. Then his body went limp and slumped down. Donal dropped the crossbow to the floor, went over and sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. Savage walked over to where Mitchell hung like an inanimate puppet and placed two fingers on his neck. There was no pulse and, judging by the amount of blood on the floor, no chance of resuscitation. She went over to Donal and put a hand on his shoulders.
‘I wish you hadn’t done that, Mr Donal. I really wish you hadn’t done that.’
‘I had to, Inspector, I just had to.’
Savage thought of Kelly. The beautiful girl lying on the cold earth. Then she thought of the students Mitchell had raped. Finally she thought of her own children, Samantha and Jamie and poor little Clarissa.
‘I know,’ she said.
When Savage got outside Hardin was waiting for her.
‘I am not sure whether to give you a bloody medal or a suspension.’ Hardin shook his head. ‘Davies told me he ordered you not to enter the building.’
‘Sir, I knew he wasn’t going to hurt anybody but Mitchell.’
‘And suppose Mr Mitchell is innocent?’
‘The pictures he showed Riley and Enders were taken in the spare room, I checked. Take a look at the master bedroom. Mirrored wardrobes, like in the video footage we got from Forester’s computer. The bed is the same too.’
As if to back up her words the air filled with the noise of an approaching train. Through the trees to the back of the property a long streak of colour flashed by, the sound increasing in intensity for a moment before leaving a diminishing whoosh. Hardin stared into the wood where a blizzard of autumn leaves spiralled in the train’s wake.
‘So what if Mitchell was guilty of rape and maybe murder? Last time I read up on sentencing policy we didn’t have the death penalty for homicide, for anything for that matter. He didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Nine girls we are aware of, probably countless others who have never come forward. I’d say Donal did us a favour.’
‘Charlotte, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you.’
Donal was being led out of the house now and put in a car. He appeared calm, his face having an almost serene appearance. He thought he had achieved closure, but Savage wasn’t so sure. Closure didn’t come so easy. It took years.
The car drove away, Donal in the back with Davies, the detective grinning and patting Donal on the shoulder. Meanwhile Hardin was mulling things over. Maybe Mitchell had killed Kelly. It would solve a lot of problems, he explained. His reasoning was that in the ring of depravity comprising Mitchell’s group of rapists, Mitchell had gone one step further.
‘Anyone capable of carrying out so many attacks is surely capable of carrying out murder as well. He probably killed the Olivarez girl. Why not Kelly too?’
‘I’ll see what we can find to eliminate him, sir.’
‘No! I want you to see what you can find to evidence him.’
‘He didn’t kill Kelly, sir.’
‘Fuck it, Charlotte! He didn’t do it or you want to believe he didn’t do it? What’s got into you?’
Hardin began a rant about Savage’s obsession with the Zebo case, how she was wallowing in her own self- pity, wanting the agony to be prolonged, enjoying the masochism. He wanted her to face the truth. Fact, Mitchell was linked to Forester. Fact, Mitchell was a serial rapist. Fact, he was sadistic. Fact, he had the opportunity and ability.
The words washed over Savage although she realised Hardin was right about the self-pity. The loss of her daughter and the loneliness she felt with Pete being away should have had no bearing on her police work, but emotionally the whole lot were bundled up together, threads of feeling intertwined and looping back and forth until they created one huge tangle. That didn’t change the evidence though. If Mitchell was the killer then where was Forester’s Shogun, and where was Alice Nash?
‘Harry,’ she said. ‘We are looking for a man named Harry.’
Chapter 27
Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Thursday 4th November. 1.40 pm
Sorting out the chaos created by Donal killing Mitchell had taken up most of the rest of the day and a good part of the next so it was Thursday afternoon before Savage was able to return her attention to Zebo. Because Savage had been present at Mitchell’s murder an inquiry had been initiated and the PIP, or Post Incident Procedure, was in full swing. Whether the matter would be dealt with internally — by Standards — or whether the IPCC would need to get involved, Savage had no idea, nor did she really care. She had done her best in the circumstances and had slept easy, knowing Donal, at least, was alive. Thank God she had persuaded Hardin that immediate suspension would be an overreaction and he had agreed she should carry on working.
Hardin was now ensconced upstairs somewhere, getting all friendly with the incident manager no doubt and trying to charm away any trouble. Sometimes Hardin was a right pain, but Savage knew he would support her all the way.
Back on Zebo and Savage was getting the team to focus on finding someone called Harry.
‘Nothing in our records, ma’am,’ Enders said. ‘Nothing in the statements, no witnesses with the name. Checked the Henrys as well. Nowt.’
‘Everett Mitchell also said something about this Harry liking the caring sort, whatever the caring sort means.’
‘Alice Nash,’ Calter said. ‘She is the caring sort, I mean. She works part-time at Cotton Socks Nursery in Ivybridge.’
‘What?’ The realisation hit Savage like a psychological battering ram. ‘Kelly Donal was doing an Early
